Scars Series: In the arms of Her Snake slayer
by writershreyac
Summary: War changed people. and shattered old beliefs. A Gryffindor who killed one snake, Nagini. And now he is hell-bent to save one, the Slytherin Queen, herself. And they are declared as third most compatible match under the newly passed Magical law for Marriage. (continued as a part of SCARS) This teaser fic is complete.
1. Chapter Prologue

_**Disclaimer**_: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling. My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plot line and story line may therefore get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers in this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet.

* * *

**In the arms of her snake slayer**

**prologue**

He was born the very day Harry Potter was born. And then the death eaters had come for his parents. Gran had been able to save him. But his parents. Perhaps he will never get to hear their voice. A child bullied and made fun of, still, he had stood his ground. Respected and showed compassion whenever required. No one knows, how deep the years of torture went. Scaring his mind. He was an example of Carrow's handiwork.

He had stood in front of the vile evil. He had reminded others why they had vowed to fight in the first place. But when he had swung the sword of Gryffindor and had cut the head of that hideous snake Nagini, in that instance, Neville Longbottom had shredded his old skin. And had grown up. Or grown quiet. No one played much attention. And he was fine with that. It helped to reorganize. To watch from the shadows, to understand the changing dynamics of this new world. He might not be as sharp as Granger, as quick as Malfoy, as brave as Harry or as strategical as Ron was- but he was all of it, given a little time and by invested a little thought and effort.

Interestingly nothing escaped Granger. But she was a confidant he could count on. And he was numb. Numb to the flashing light bulbs, numb to the questions been thrown at him. His soft friendly hazel brown eyes had grown hard, like flintstone. The boy that stuttered had suddenly developed the aura of making people grow quiet with unease.

And right before the war had ended, they had killed his Gran. The Parkinsons. Pretended to be neutral but acted as Voldermort's reserved foot soldiers. It was good for them the aurors had captured them soon and they would get the Dementor's Kiss, like Lucius Malfoy. But he was not at peace with the daughter, once his batchmate, getting thrown into Azkaban. Though rumours were ringing loud enough.

Neville had never asked for much. He truly never had much. But now he was tempted. By the ministry of Magic. By the public. By the fame, he had risen to. Harry Potter seemed to have guessed this all and had rightfully vanished. He was sure, the best place to hide for his fellow Gryffindor was among the muggles. That man was much in need of peace. And Neville would always be loyal to friends' best interests. At least he would make sure that the world should believe in this version of the story.

So, when the beguiling representative from the Ministry of Magic, had dropped in, soon after he was back burying Gran, he was prepared. The day before the requisition forms of the newly passed Magical Marriage Law had been owled to him. Then yesterday's Prophet had declared the fate of the Parkinsons were decided by the Wizengamot, they would get the Kiss by the end of the day and their daughter would get a right for a trial, but clear enough that witch too would be put in Azkaban forever.

He had stood tall, still in all black, his shoes caked in wet mud from his Gran's grave. He had his back turned to the sweet spoken ministry official who had once again tried to make him accept the huge sum of money as a compensation for a war veteran. They had already given him Merlin's first class.  
"Mr. Longbottom, we are truly aggrieved for your recent loss. It is a fact each one has lost someone or the other in that blood affair. But life goes on, sir. And money does make things smooth."

"I am aware, Mr Sickletonk. But there is something more valuable than money. A woman's honour. I am afraid you cannot help me save that one."

The official had left in a hurry. He had gone to his superiors and who in turn had gone to their head of the management. That evening a harried Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had knocked at the front door. The moment he was allowed in, without much preamble he had solemnly asked, "Longbottom, whose honour do you wish to save?"

"Pansy Parkinson."

"How? And Why? Are you holding a personal Vedanta against the girl?"

Neville had simply stared back. His unobtrusive stare had given Shacklebolt a feeling, that this was no more a naïve boy. This was a commander, who had earned his respect in a very hard way.

"No. I will not, never, ever disrespect my future wife…", he had placed the folded paper on the minister's hand, Pansy Parkinson's moving picture staring back at them.

"Neville, I really can't…"

"And you don't need to…I wouldn't ask you to…I know how the algorithm and the arithmancy formulas work."

Throwing his hands in exasperation the minister had bellowed, "Then how can you make this mad demand?"

Waiting for the elderly ex auror to calm down, Neville had walked back to the table and had poured two glasses of firewhiskey. He had come back and given one to the minister, he had taken a swig from his own tumbler.

"You can stall her trial…that will make her stand innocent till proven guilty, and all innocent wizards and witches within the age of 17 and 45 are bound to sign up the requisition form."

"But how are you sure you will get her?"

"I will, you will recall, what all I have said, two night before...your system is based on the same prototype, Granger and I had worked on while in school."

"I see, and the money…?"

Giving a quick glance at his already filled up form, the young man had handed it over to his esteemed visitor.

Walking up to the door, intending to see the Minister off, Neville Longbottom had surmised in an uncharacteristically grave voice, "War has left behind orphans to feed and to be taken care of. And there are still many martyrs to be buried and given a fitting farewell. Your honourable Mr Sickletonk is a smart man, he believes- 'Money does make things smooth.'"


	2. Chapter 1

_The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Neville was first to appear at the Ministry of Magic. Shacklebolt had managed to get an empty room and had explained it to him that the jury members of the Wizengamot were ready to let go of Pansy if he was ready to attest that he was capable enough to keep her under house arrest for a period of six months. Neville had stood there in front of a nearly empty courtroom, at the nears two hours earlier for the office hours to start and had bargained for three. Grumbling they had agreed. The witch was not able to use her wand for the period. Neville was fine with that.

Shacklebolt had still egged on about why was he so interested in Pansy. Neville had given him the same reply. "Saving a woman's honor."

It had actually been two weeks after the war had ended. And apart from the capture and trial of the death eaters, the magical marriage law was the other grand program launched by the Ministry. They were trying their best to project, that they were truly intending to do something for the betterment of magical society.

He had noticed Snape and Draco Malfoy walk in. It was common knowledge within the Dumbledore's Army during the last stages of the countdown to the battle that Malfoy was the second in command spy planted by late Dumbledore. His innocence had been proven at the court. And pieces of evidence collected from the portrait of the former headmaster and those provided by Aberforth Dumbledore had saved the young Malfoy from rotting in Azkaban.

But as the wizarding community had incurred quite a loss in the hands of the Malfoy family, he was needed to pay a hefty compensation. Though the details of it were still not made public. Lucius Malfoy had killed his wife for lying about Potter's death. And Malfoy had truly been quite happy to see his father humiliated and dragged away to Azkaban. That night he had received the Kiss.

Hermione had walked in and spotting him, had come down the gallery steps and had sat beside him. She was to be the first one to go, they were aware.

She had turned at him and had said, "In moments, I will be shoved in Hell."

Neville had shrugged and had asked, "Why?"

"Because I will be tagged along with the ferret."

Neville had given her a sly smile and had whispered," Granger you never know."

Ginny and George had joined them too.

Authur and Molly Weasley had succumbed to the injuries sustained at the Battle of Hogwarts. So had Percy and Fred. Bill and Fleur had been wounded and were recovering at 's Speciality Ward. And Charles Weasley had been commissioned by Gringotts to secure their banks. Since it was a high-security job, he was pardoned from this fiasco of Marriage law, till his tenure with the goblins ended.

He had simply abided by whatever the official had been asking him through swift nods and hushed confirmation. But his eyes were glued on the witch who would soon be his wife. She had looked ill at ease. She was definitely weak and ill-fed. And no cared for. During the grandeur ceremonial binding procedure, conducted within a sealed-up room adjoining the courtroom, she had first looked at him, really honestly looked at him. Her eyes had searched for some unfathomable recognition. And Neville had felt that even for a split second, the snobbish, pug face of Slytherin, had looked more like a girl lost, alone and desperately looking for help. He had, for his own part meant well to keep to the ancient binding oaths. The fact that the magical glowing cords intertwined around both of their hands had glowed the accepted shades of Gold and red, had given him some peace. Even he had his own reasons to marry the daughter of his Gran's murderers, the magical spells had looked passed the social stigma attached.

And Pansy Parkinson, the last of the surviving Parkinson's looked more than acceptable in the beige tunic, she was made to wear.

Due to the special circumstances of his arranged marriage, he had been able to skip the Gringotts. They as a couple could visit it once her probatory house arrest period would end without setbacks. The aurors had directly escorted them to Nevile's Gran's cottage. As soon as the marriage had got officiated, Pansy had been giving him nasty looks. But once the aurors had secured the place and seen to it that Neville had kept away Pansy's wand safe and warded, they left the couple to themselves.

Neville had turned and had given Pansy a small and but confident smile. He had addressed her for the first time," Hello, Mrs. Longbottom."

Making a face of utmost disgust, Pansy, had spat at him and had dashed away to find some way to escape. While she was off, Neville had simply sat down on a chair, waiting for her to return. Absent-minded, he had twirled his wand.

She had tried every single window and door. But nothing had budged. Instead, each time she had touched a latch or a doorknob, that opened to the outside of the cottage, her hands had got singed. She was crying and her palms were now both burning and aching. She had slowly walked back to the living space, where Neville was still sitting. She was feeling awful and resting her back to the doorframe, she had looked over at Neville. He, on his part, had simply stared back at her, mildly interested.

She was standing there holding out her badly bruised hand. Gathering so strength and bringing forth her high-born attitude, she had said, "I heard that you killed that slimy snake. Thought, you were are Prince in shining amour…" she had tried hard not to gag at those words, "let me go, or simply let me die…I didn't know that Dada and Mum were asked to…I am sorry…"

"No, you are not sorry. Not yet."

She had whispered and had sounded defeated. She had restored to begging now, "Please, please aren't you the good ones…please…"

"You know -  
_'If a werewolf is in human form and bites the victim, they will merely gain lupine tendencies such as a fondness for rare meat. Any bite or scratch obtained from a werewolf even if inhuman form will leave permanent scars. However, the fresh wound can be sealed with a mixture of powdered silver and dittany.'_

Pansy's head had snapped up and she had stared at Neville is utter panic.

She had started stuttering, and shaking her head in denial, had yelled at him, "What are you mumbling about, fame and money, got you all crazy, huh?"

Neville had got up suddenly, the tunic on him, had defined his muscles and broad chest. Pansy had backed up and had hit the wall. She had desperately tried to hit Neville with her burned hands. And the much stronger, Gryffindor had her pinned to the wall. His large frame had caged her small body, two hands safely secured in one of his large palms. To stop her from hitting him with her head, he had trapped her face, with his other large palm, in a sure and firm grip, but had made certain he was not hurting her.

"I also know, two nights before the battle you had had enough dittany, but you had dropped most of the silver, in sheer panic…so tell me Pansy, where did Fenrir bite you or touch you?"

* * *

A/N: I know this ship is the rarest of all, but remember, war does funny things with people's lives.


	3. Chapter 2

_The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under SCARS series. Please read the following to know the underlying plot details:  
Panther's Lioness; Dragon's Ruby Bride; To, Mrs. A Weasley; Thunder & Trance._

* * *

**In the arms of her snake slayer**

**Chapter 2**

Pinned there on an ordinary wall. Her hands held above her head. In one firm grip. Her face nestled within the warm, solid, calloused large palm. Her breath hitched. Her eyes remained locked with his, unblinking. Her tears falling free. Pansy Parkinson nee Longbottom felt both the dawn of relief and fear.

Relief that someone knew. Fear that will he like all other Slytherins, use that information to his benefit. She had noticed, he had grown taller, noticed, his voice breaking, noticed, those burning embers hidden behind his droopy eyes when she with a couple of her fellow housemates had tried to make a joke drag too long. She had seen Crabbe and Goyle torture him. And knew Alecto Carrow harbored a dark fascination for him. She had called him her personal whipping whelp. But she never bothered to know what happened behind those barred doors in those special dungeon segments.

But the man studying her from just a couple of millimeters away was indeed a man who has seen too much. He had seen death and had killed with his very own hands. Swung a bloody huge sword. And had beheaded that blood-curdling snake. And that very hand was cradling her face. Firmly yet soft enough not to bruise her. And she remembered she had wanted that for a long time. This was new, not an act. Real, and not a pretense. But her eyes had already adjusted the shades of grey of existence. And, her understanding of the world as either saint or a sinner had thoroughly refurbished. It was a kaleidoscope. Turn a saintly looking face upside down, you can see the sins it is capable of committing. And the trick was to know the capacity of the opponent in committing the crime against you. She could not decide right at that captivated moment, whether those burning flint stone eyes belonged to a devil-possessed man or a heaven's angel banished down to earth.

She had read those banned books of Muggle religion and sects and cults. She had truly marveled at their art and architecture. But had hidden her fascination well. Now all that glory, luxury and sense of belonging were lost. Parents dead. Friends either killed, or imprisoned for life, or they didn't care enough to check on her. She cracked like that huge glass ceiling of the Slytherin common room. Her copious tears fell like the lake's waters swelling in through huge fissures expanding over the glass surface. The barrier finally broke free.

Neville held on to the hysteric witch. His resolve to treat her clinically cracking at the seams. He was unsure to deal with feelings. Having lived life through borrowed affection and relayed reassurance, He knew he did have too much love to give to someone. But he could not trust. He could not bear his heart open. He could not breathe free without checking behind if any sinister ploy would ruin his peace of mind. If anyone understood Professor Snape's paranoia, it was one caldron melting Neville Longbottom. Funny Granger had proven if he could remove the notion of Snape lurking around, forget about his robes brushing past his desk, he too was an exceptional potion maker.

But this was more than potion. This was mixing his heart with that of his reasoning, mixing his brain into a dark sea of imagination. And Pansy's two pools of dark chocolate eyes were openly inviting him. Like a sailor lost in the sea, gravitating towards the song of a siren singing somewhere within the mist rolling over the sinister waves.

He had to break free, and he saw the only way out. He must close his eyes. And ironic enough reprieve as short-lived as the distance between two seconds of a timekeeper. She had whispered back, the bite in her voice prominent, "You are delusional Longbottom."

He could no longer help it. He never imagined relishing such power over a woman. Meek and submissive through his growing years, this was like new-found freedom. And he was tasting this exotic flavor with all his five senses. His eyes were drinking hers. His lips were tasting her breath. His eyes were listening to the rapid inhalation and exhalation and he thought this was calming. Her hair was brushing against his arm. Leaving goosebumps. And he could feel her racing pulse. The hands trapped under his large palm were tinkering like a watch. And the one drumming right below his palm that was still gripping her jaw had started making his heart dance to its erotic rhythm. He was too close to thinking about how would her lips taste. Many men had already tasted the nectar trapped within those petals. And for the sake of that slowly developing illusion he had risked his own entity and had taken a blind leap of faith. He had said in husky low murmurs, "Then Mrs. Longbottom, let me be for first and last lover."


	4. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**_: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. Panther's Lioness, Dragon's Ruby Bride, Thunder & Trance, To, Mrs.A Weasley.__  
_My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers in this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet.__

* * *

** In the Arms of Her Snake Slayer-3**

She had been haunting him for quite some time.

_Many of the sympathizers of Harry Potter, Dumbledore's Army and the young members of the Order of the Phoenix were now hiding in the Room of Requirement. And those students had equivocally voted Neville Longbottom as their leader. It was mostly the three houses. Camping, on their guard, barely sleeping. The estranged brother of Albus Dumbledore, Aberforth, the keeper of Hogsmeade Inn, was the one to help them smuggle in food and water. And the elves could only help, as long as they could go undetected. Though many of the Hogwarts elves had broken rank and had joined the party of young witches and wizards._

_And it was one such mixed party of a few elves working as scouts, a handful of students, who were just returning after making the arduous trip to the Hogsmeade village down the hill. Neville had insisted to take the rear guard while returning. And Spots, one of the defacto elf had been by his side. Most of the members of this close-knit troop had safely returned. But an incident had deterred Neville for a while._

_In one of the empty and abandoned corridors, he had stumbled upon a ghastly event about to take place. Fenrir Greyback had a trembling Pansy Parkinson backed up into an alcove. And the girl was worst to wear. The beast-like man was chuckling brutishly. But Neville could detect the torture the mute victim was suffering. With Spots in tow. He had devised a plan to help the girl. She might not have reciprocated the gesture if the tables were ever turned. But Neville was the son of two respected Aurors and a Gryffindor. His sense of justice had made him convince Spots to distract the werewolf long enough. Disillusioning himself, He had crept into the alcove, and had picked the girl in tattered robes in his arms. The castle had responded to his quiet plea. It had opened a pathway to one of the prefect bathrooms near the Slytherin common rooms. By the time the death eater had made back to where he had left his prey, she was long gone._

_Though Neville was a gentleman enough, not to pry, he could read the telltale signs of molestation, or attempt to assault. The Carrows had made him see stark examples. He had made a rule for every student to carry a small bundle of necessary potion phials. And these were stupendously delivered by the most trusted elf of the headmaster, death eater, Severus Snape. He had left a bottle of silver and a potion phial of dittany tucking them inside of Pansy's feeble hands. Before leaving, he had felt the need to whisper words of encouragement. "Be safe. Hope. I will save you."_

Mr. Longbottom had his newly married wife pressed against the wall, her chest heaving against his own. Had he ever thought, he would once in his life, think, Pansy Parkinson, stinks so horribly, that she will need a thorough bath accompanied with rigorous scrubbing? But this fiery witch had called him delusional and he should have a wordy reply. He smirked, "You stink."

There he had said the word, that broken her resolve in pieces. And it was beyond his imagination how a woman could still be so desirable. Like a veela or a siren.

He thought what harm will it be if he kisses her. She was his legal wife. Till now, He had not kissed really. So, he dared. he had leaned forward. And then she had kicked him hard. If Hermione knew how to throw a punch, sure why not, Pansy could knee. He had tumbled back growling in pain. Free from his hold, she had made a dash for the nearest open door. Growling in pain, but not too hurt, Neville had lunged after her.

The sooner she had made past the door, she had realized her mistake. This was a bedroom. Turning she had found Neville standing, blocking the doorframe. Terrified and at loss, she had started whimpering.

"Please, please, I will be good. Please don't…please…"

He did step inside the room and has softly closed the door to his bedroom. But he simply kept staring at her. She wasn't able to understand what exactly he wanted from her. Was he enjoying the chase, just like Fenrir did? Was he getting high from the pleasure of the hunt? Then confused, alone, she couldn't take it anymore. She had ripped off her tunic. Bared herself to him.

And her body had given Neville the answers to his question. Her body had series-long claw marks, not deep but bad enough. That monster had enjoyed tiring her skin. Leaving long steady bruises that had not healed properly. She would not bleed. But if he was to lay his eyes on her, he would get his sadistic fill. Neville's personal experience under Alecto Carrow was proved enough.

Pansy was reeling in grief. Her world was now drawing to an end. Death was merrier. She was barely able to keep it together. As a last stand of defense, she had yelled at him, "what, don't like what you see! What too sully for a Gryffindor now, you are all high and mighty now are you?"

Neville had kept staring. Quietly. Waiting. She had sat down on the ground overwhelmed. Holding herself in her arms, she had cried and hiccupped mercilessly.

Then suddenly, she had felt him. He had slowly knelt before her. She had closed her eyes in disgust. And that made her hear his breathing loud and clear. So much in control. Could she ever have thought of a day like this one? She had felt something heavy being wrapped around her. Startled she had looked about. He had placed a blanket over her.

Yes, this was the Neville she was familiar with. The one that carried for his fellow classmates. Not just Gryffindors, but others too, provided they were cordial enough. But she could not remember one instance, where she was even a fraction of a spoon nice to him, in all those seven years.

Pansy thought, burying her shame, her honor deeper into the warm blanket, values of life were truly a kaleidoscope. And Neville Longbottom was citing an image of perhaps several such parallelly existing game of glass pieces inside strips of mirrors facing each other.

Baffled and bewildered, she had jerked back a little, when she had felt him cradling her bruised palms in one his larger ones, for closer inspection. He had already started showing his evening stubble. A long nose and a stout chin, eyelashes not quite dense. But eyebrows thick, defining the arch of his temple. His ears wear still red.

Sitting there on the floor, crossed legged, the man had held her hands like she was made of glass. A menagerie. Fat tears were still rolling down her almond-shaped cheek when she had tensed at the sight of a scented healing balm beside him.

She had often seen him tend to samplings. Quietly singing to them, when no one was looking. In the same, caressing brush of his fingers, he was applying the salve over those singed marks. As she had studied the slowly healing palm, Neville had let his gaze run over her exposed calf and thigh.

Turning his face to his task at hand, he had gritted his teeth. And a feeling of rage, guilt and remorse had churned up in his stomach. He would not lose it in front of her. She was already paranoid. It would do her no good if he was going to behave like a raging Spanish Bull. An expression he had picked up from the late Colin Creevey. No, he would not gain anything from dwelling in the past. If he could help in securing the present, he mused to himself, as he got up from the floor, now was the best time.

Before Pansy could realize, she was lifted off the floor. By natural instinct, she had wound her flail arms around his neck. And accidentally, her nose had brushed against the side of his neck. He had peered at her with hooded eyes, for a couple of minutes and then in long strides had walked ahead. Standing beside his bed, he had softly placed her on it.

Feeling the soft bed and the down pillows below her after several days, the first thought had been, this is bliss. But with Neville still lingering and hovering about, studying her minute reaction, Pansy had grown alert. Trying her best to crawl after from him, she had started pleading again, "Please…"

In a blink of an eye, he had backed off, turning on his heels, he had walked off of the room. Baffled, she had leaned off the bed, trying to see what he was up to now. The moment she had heard his food steps, after several tense minutes, she had crawled away.

He had brought a tray. There was a jar of water, with an empty glass beside. A bowl of steaming hot soup and half a loaf of freshly baked bread.

He had placed the breakfast tray on the bed itself. When he had heard the soft "oh!" Looking up, his eyes had met with those pair of dark chocolate ones of his wife, selected by the ministry. He had given her a small smile, and nodding at the table, had softly whispered, "Eat!"

One sentence had got itself logged in her brain, _"He got me food, He went and got me food."_ But her dormant Slytherin traits had kicked in, eyes still wet with tears, she had crooked her head and had studied him. Testily, she had asked, "Are you planning to fatten the hen and then kill it?"

There were already a set of cutleries placed beside the bowl and the side dish. Now Neville had brought out another set his pocket, smirking at her, he had dipped the spoon in the soup and had slurped it. Next, he had torn a piece of a loaf and had placed it inside his mouth. Slowing, tenderly, he had chewed on them. Pansy had licked her cracked lips. His flint stone eyes, had not left her face for a single second. The seconds ticked. They both kept their vigil. Then the wife had pounced on the tray. Out of habit, she had picked up the spoon and had cried out in pain. In utter dismay, she had looked up! With her bruised palm, how was she about to eat. Those would still take another hour to heal.

In his much familiar genial voice, Longbottom had shrugged and had sat down beside her, "It is alright. Here, I can help you with that. And please, no more crying. Can we agree on that? Please…"

Gawking at him, like she must have imagined him with three heads, Pansy had gulped down the offered food. Half an hour later, the emotionally and physically exhausted new wife, had laid down on her husband's single bed. And the man in question had tucked her in. Brushing her hair gently off her face, he softly asks her, "I had said, Hope. I shall save you. Now, get some sleep."

* * *

A/N: You can see these are companion chapters. I am keeping the chapters concerning each pair of characters together. But you need to read them together, to get the full picture.  
I read somewhere, "a child has been dictated over in his childhood, repressed puberty, and a fumbling transition between childhood and adulthood, under the conditions, if he is exposed to depressing, threatening life-changing events, he will have confusing ways to deal with the world for some time." The Neville we are familiar with would cry his heart out at the death of his Grandmother, but mine is too quiet for comfort.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer**_: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently three uploaded stories. A couple of more will be added.  
Panther's Lioness;  
Dragon's Ruby Bride;  
Thunder & Trance,  
To, Mrs, A Weasley  
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

* * *

**In the arms of Her snake Slayer- 5**

Neville had just cleaned the dishes and cleared the kitchen when the fireplace had chimed. He had turned to the closed bedroom door and had sent both a silencing spell and a locking spell for extra security. He had flicked his wand at the fireplace, and soon the flames had turned green to reveal the face of Blaise Zabini.

"Neville."

"Blaise. Do step in."

It was surprising how the two had come to talk on a first-name basis. Perhaps the subtle change in their nonexisting relation had begun the moment Blaise had decided to finally pick a side, had stepped out of the forbidden forest. He had then secretly started following the returning students of Hogwarts, through the underground tunnels. The very ones returning with food and supplies from the Hogsmeade Inn. It was in dark dismal leaking passages he had had his brush with death. Greyback had been making his way back and Blaise had just happened to be in his way. The angry werewolf must have had his mind somewhere else, or maybe he thought Blaise to be too close to the all-powerful Malfoy family. The brute had just flung the student across the passageway and had got out of the tunnel.

By the time, he had been discovered by the party led by Seamus Finnigan who had heard the later scream, the werewolf had disapparated from the grounds. He was brought back into the Room of Requirement, where Neville had healed his wounds. Throughout the Hogwarts years, neither of them had paid much heed to the other, other than laughing at each other expense. But that act of compassion shown by Longbottom had made Blaise a loyal compatriot of Dumbledore's Army.

After sitting on one of four chairs around the diner table, Blaise had truly looked at Neville. " I am sorry to have interrupted you."

Chuckling humourlessly, "So you have heard."

"How is she?"

"Hysteric, confused, struggling, underweight."

"I did get a chance to speak to Snape."

"I saw him, I hope Hermione will be safe."

"Believe me, Longbottom, no one messes with Severus Snape, unless they have a death wish."

When the latter had offered him a glass of Firewhiskey, the former Slytherin had truly been grateful. Sipping into his drink, he had stared intently into the burning fire. Neville had patiently waited for the other to complete rearranging his thoughts.

"I could manage a couple of minutes of uninterrupted meeting with the Headmaster. He was held in the same holding house where earlier Draco had been shoved into. With Harry potter disappearing, Snape had also gone underground. But you knew that… Since Hogwarts still recognized him as its headmaster, the castle had allowed him to access his personal chambers and through them he had succeeded in entering the secret lab, that he himself had managed to build up during the last few weeks before the battle. All this while, the potion master had been hiding there, testing your potions on one of the captured werewolves, from the Parkinson attack."

Neville had sat up straight his eyes glistening with expectations. "And, what did he find?"

"Though the werewolf had died, the test had borne satisfactory results. He is still to decide on the manner the potion will need to be administered…The only drawback happened to be if he had applied the thick bubbly crème over one inflicted part of the skin, the other scars would aggravate. And this had led to a small accident. The unbearable pain had made the wolf and nearly attack the potion master. He had lunged for the potion still brewing in the corner intending to destroy it. But perhaps he had miscalculated his moments and had bumped at the edge of the table, making the cauldron filled potion fly in the air, and finally covering it through and through. Since the crème was still hot and the wolf been far to close to dying, it had expired due to the burns."

"I see…"

"Thus, Snape is apprehensive of how you are going to achieve the unachievable."

Neville had tipped his drink, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he had proposed, "I have come up with a suggestion. Based on what you just said, we can safely say, the crème should be applied all at once, over the entire surface of the person scarred or bitten by the werewolf. And the most possible way to do it will be to spray the lotion on the person, of dipping him or her in it. Since tomorrow night would be full Moon, both Pansy and Lavender would need to undergo the trial procedure as early as possible. This was just one step towards healing them of the lycanthropy tendencies."

Blaise had pointed out, "I marvel at your Gryffindor sense of optimism, but tell me how are you going to achieve it?"

Neville had smirked and had said, "Soap cake, or gel. It can mimic the same crème consistency. And soap lather has the capacity to reach anywhere and everywhere." Getting up from his chair, he had brought out a case from the nearby cupboard. Inside The glass box, Blaise could see round cakes shining like a full moon."

"Umm, are you suggesting bubble bath, this sounds ridiculous…though, this can work if you can keep the consistency of the crème absolute."

"You can have my guaranty on it…"

Shrugging his shoulders, after snapping the box shut, Neville had tipped his fingers on it lost in thought.

After a length of time, he had added, "If nothing else, it will fail and will not harm Pansy with side effects. "

"And you know this how?"

"I might have switched professor Lupin's toiletries at Grimmauld Place one day, and even Bill Weasley had been heard question his wife, why did his soap smelt like a bunched of Pansies."

Blaise had laughed out loud. To think the stammering boy could be up to such mischief!

"And? What was the outcome?"

"Professor Lupin and Bill both looked less grumpy and merrier, though I was not around them when the Full Moon night approached."

"We will still have to brace ourselves."

"Yes."

Blaise had then done something quite unexpected from him. He had caught hold of Neville's hand and had shaken it a couple of times, "Thanks Neville for taking such drastic steps. Thank you for doing this for Lavender. We know Lavender will not heal but, maybe if the potion works on reducing the scars over Pansy, it might take away the ghastliness from those inflicted upon Lavender."

Neville had insisted, "Blaise would you stay back?"

Blaise had mentioned, "I am to wed Lavender at dawn, I think I can manage some hours. Won't you have to complete your binding ceremony?"

"I need to, I am planning to kill two birds with one stone, I mean to carry on the experiment and also seal the bond with Pansy all at once. Umm, I would like to ask a favor from you?"

"Mate, I am not going to warm up things for you, if that is what you are asking?" pointing at the bedroom door, the Italian had smirked, "In there you got to be the king of the jungle, no second helping, I don't partake in second hands."

Slapping his head, Neville had closed his eyes tight and had opened them to plead genuinely, "Urgh! All I am saying will you have a talk with her, just to convince her that I mean no harm to her?"

Blaise had stared at him. and he had understood that the Slytherin was trying to read his true intentions.

Neville had shrugged and mused aloud, "I know people find it very strange with the way I am behaving presently. But the one thing I have come to understand is that someone has to keep the show running. I have seen how Harry had been working to bring down Voldemort. But the present scenario is not asking for Harry to sacrifice himself. I think this whole thing is his destiny, for I too am the boy who is born at the end of July. And if I could be instrumental in saving people, then there is nothing like that."

Blaise had tried to understand this new side of Neville. He too had made the mistake of asking him, "Are you doing it for fame? Well let me remind you, you have killed a vicious snake"

Neville had gagged at first and then had laughed.

"Snake slayer, there is a funny ring to that. No Zabini, I am doing all this for my family, pointing at the bedroom door. I am doing it for my late gran, for my mum and dad, though they are still to recognize me. Bellatrix has taken away everything from me, this battle has taken away almost everything from Pansy. I will at least make sure, someday she grabs on to the choice to living life once again, free from blood prejudices and the constraints of this magical world."

Blaise still pokes fun at him, "Are Gryffindors always this sentimental?"

"I am not Ron, try a different tactic on some other day, Zabini, if me being sentimental has just saved your friends life, and in turn will perhaps save the very woman you have come to love so fiercely, will you still continue to poke fun at me."

Zabini had sighed, and had nodded, "You are a new game, Longbottom."

"This is a new world, Zabini, we must change accordingly."

* * *

A/N: Thoughts please.


End file.
